


A Child in the Dark

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-19
Updated: 2008-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>To try and break myself out of a funk, I tried an exercise from <a href="http://panthermoon.com/generator.php"><b>The Almost Totally Random Writing Exercise Generator</b></a>. What came up for me was "15 minutes * A Child * hiding in the dark." I cheated and after the 15 minutes still went back and edited for probably 30. I'm a particular fan of this site. It always comes up with things I want to try and do.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Child in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> To try and break myself out of a funk, I tried an exercise from [**The Almost Totally Random Writing Exercise Generator**](http://panthermoon.com/generator.php). What came up for me was "15 minutes * A Child * hiding in the dark." I cheated and after the 15 minutes still went back and edited for probably 30. I'm a particular fan of this site. It always comes up with things I want to try and do.

The first time Billy remembered the power going out, he was three. It seemed as if the entire row of council flats had disappeared into a void, engulfed in a black hole where all manner of monsters could come to life. He scrabbled and bumped his way to the kitchen, desperate for the best hiding place he could find. The cabinet under the sink was the perfect refuge, small and compact and imbued with warmth and security, everything loving and familiar that Billy instinctively felt from the room.

When his father found him he was embarrassed at having been seen so afraid, tracks of tears still staining his cheeks. But Billy had been gently coaxed from his hiding place with soothing words, his fears magically erased with silent fatherly assurances. They joined his sister and mother in his parent's bedroom and they shared stories and sang songs until they were once more illuminated in the dusky yellow light of the bedside lamp. Billy curled up against his mothers side while Margaret sat in their father's lap, both distracted from lingering misgivings by warmth and love.

# # #

Ten years on and Billy's too old to run and hide but still the sudden darkness made him jump. Almost instantly he felt a rising wave of sadness, wounds still fresh now cut even deeper. He helped his grandmother find candles and lamps, then retreated to his room and sat alone in the dark, watched optical illusions reflected on the wall from weary eyes. He's supposed to be the protector now, the man of the house, but instead he feels the full weight of being a child, sad and ashamed at his discomfort and mournful thoughts.

Maggie didn't speak when she came in the room, just nudged him over to make room on the bed. They sat together in silence, side by side, until Billy broke the quiet; a soft hum growing from deep inside, an old favorite of their mother's naturally building, enfolding, cocooning. Maggie roughly exhaled then joined in the song, letting the notes strengthen and soothe. She pulled them both back against the wall and rested her head on Billy's shoulder. He pushed down the strong pang of sorrow, focused instead on treasured memories, unconditional love and the steady presence of his sister.

# # #

Now on the other side of the world, and the lights go out just as suddenly. But the darkness seems more encompassing in Wellington, and Billy was thankful no one seemed to notice he's the only one not whooping or laughing or grumbling. He stood quietly in the kitchen, embarrassed at the need to even out his breathing; a grown man startled in the dark. Tears prickle behind his closed eyes and he grips the counter a little too tightly, after all these years still assailed by an all too familiar rush of sorrow and vulnerability.

An unnaturally still Orlando watched quietly from the door blocking Billy from prying eyes. He remembered a story Billy told him about how his parents would make him feel safe when an overactive imagination conjured demons in the depths of dark places, how that loss of security was one of the hardest parts about their deaths. He wanted to step forward and go to Billy, replace his parents' calm reassurance and love with his own. But then the mood in the room clearly shifted as Billy managed to shake himself free, and just as suddenly they were facing each other, a different tension now filling the air.

# # #

The most recent time Billy's with Orlando when the power goes out, he's immediately pulled onto the sofa, a torch thrust into his hands and challenged to a shadow puppet competition. Somewhere between a demented rabbit and a pornographic kangaroo they've sung several renditions of "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" and "When I'm 64" with a rousing finale of "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" thrown in for good measure. Orlando is pleased he's perfected the art of distracting Billy, of quickly pulling him into happier memories with only a passing glance at sadness. Billy doesn't tell him he mastered that craft all those years ago.

The sudden dark still reminded Billy of his parents, still forced him to push through melancholy before filling his mind with only the heartwarming memories. But now the shift is effortless, fortified by Orlando's prodding, both overt and unconscious. He quieted Orlando's efforts with gentle but demanding hands. All he wanted to think about now was the feel of Orlando's pulse, the touch of his lips, the puff of heated breath against aroused skin. And when power was restored, sated sleep shielded them from the brightness of the lights, holding tight even in slumber to new stories written and memories made.


End file.
